


Can't Let Go Of You

by cheweybaclava



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Kate Argent, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Evil Gerard Argent, Homophobic Language, Human Kate Argent, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Young Chris Argent, Young Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 15:17:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6475465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheweybaclava/pseuds/cheweybaclava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris isn't supposed to love.<br/>Chris doesn't know how to stop.<br/>Chris doesn't want to say goodbye.<br/>Chris doesn't want to let Peter go.<br/>But he has to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Let Go Of You

**Author's Note:**

> Wanrning: there are homophobic terms used in this fic. Please read the tags before continuing. Thanks

There’s a strong stench of blood in the air, and that’s the first hint Chris should have picked up on. It’s not faint, like people had been wounded eras ago and left trails of their evidence behind. No, the blood is fresh. It is fresh, heady and pooling all over a poor man’s body. Chris can practically feel the metallic taste crawling up his tongue. His eyes sting, most likely from the sheer sense of spice floating despairingly through the air.

 

“Kate, I’m done with this,” Chris reminds once more, “The hunting, the killing. It’s all over for me,”

He watches warily as Kate turns around, flashing a wide grin at him. Her golden hair falls over her eyes, and maybe a long time ago, Chris thought his sister was beautiful. She was lively, spirited, confident, and fate threw roses in her direction whenever she pushed that winning smile. But now, it makes Chris want to retch. He feels nauseous knowing she wore that same capturing smirk as she burnt down the Hale house, watching people scream and beg for mercy. Kate’s past cannot be undone, and for that Chris is regretful. He despises himself for sitting idle and watching her take lives. For letting her ruin what could’ve been something incredible, and never saying anything against it. For letting her opinion influence his own, causing him to lose any chance of love that crossed his way.

“Oh, Chris,” Kate simpers, “What have they done to you?”

Chris glares at her, noticing how she carefully steps around a suspicious looking pool of black liquid, tiptoeing further into the winding tunnel. Their footsteps echo hauntingly, bouncing off the grey slabs of wall. Every movement feels captured.

 

“What are we doing here Kate?” Chris demands.

“We’re on a kill,”Kate says lightly, fingers skimming along the edges of the walls.

“I told you,” Chris grits out, “I’m _done_ with that,”

Allison’s death had managed to knock some sense into him. It wasn’t only killing werewolves, it was supernatural creatures all together. He was finished with using violence as a way to solve his problems. It had run in the family for far too long, and involving  Allison must’ve probably been the biggest mistake of his life. When she died, all the hatred and spite left boiling in him had died with her. Chris had vowed at her grave, vowed never to take another life for along as he lived. She didn’t like it, and even though she was a fighter, her heart was big enough to accept the unnatural. Losing her gave him a clear perspective, and for that he was grateful.

Sure, he’d cried himself to sleep for months on an end. Tried to find comfort at the bottom of a bottle. Kept himself locked away in his bedroom, in the hope of finding clarity within isolation. Waking up in an empty house felt like he was being torn apart, limb by limb. Chris lost nearly everything that day, and he was now adamant to hold onto his morals.

 

“You’re done with that?” Kate repeated, quirking an eyebrow, “You don’t want stop those monsters from infesting our world anymore?”

“The only monster here is you,” Chris snapped, “You’re a sly little bitch, Kate. Using the consequences of your actions as reasons to excuse what you did. You fucked up Kate, admit it. But don’t think for a second that I’m going to help you redeem yourself,”

“Now now, Christopher,” Kate purred, sliding up to him, and hooking a finger underneath his jawline, “Let’s not get too feisty. What would Allison say if she found out you were talking to her aunt like this?”

Chris lunged at her, seizing Kate’s shoulder into a tight grip, “Never talk about Allison, _ever_ , again,” he growled, digging his fingers into her skin. “It’s _your_ fault she’s dead. If you hadn’t introduced her to hunting and killing, she should still be alive today,”

“She was _seventeen_ Chris, not seven. That McCall kid would’ve easily let it slip sooner than later. Wasn’t it better to have had her in the knowledge of things?”

Chris turned his head away, throat burning with the urge to yell all kinds of curses at Kate.

“It would’ve been better if she’d just stayed out of it,”

Kate sighs, “I know you’re upset Chris. About a lot of things. Mainly Allison, of course. But you’re also upset with me, aren’t you?”

Chris looked up, nodding with a cold gaze.

“That’s why I want to make this all okay,” Kate put a hand on Chris’ arm, smiling almost genuinely. But Chris knew that there was nothing genuine about Kate. “We’ve had our ups and downs, but in the end of the day, you are my brother. My older brother, the one who I’ve always looked up to, who I’ve never stopped believing. And as hard as it may be for you to realise, I _hate_ to see you hurting. I don’t know what it’s like to lose a wife and  child, but something in your face tells me that it must burn worse than depths of Hell,”

Kate steps closer, and looks directly into Chris’ eye, “I want to help you get closure Chris,”

 

“And we’re going to do that by killing someone? By doing the exact same thing that started this mess?”

“We’re not starting anything. We’re ending this. We’re going to close the final door, you and me. Together,”

“How?” Chris whispers.

Kate’s smile grows menacing, and she leads Chris by the arm, “We’re going to put an end to the bastard who begun this,”

 

***

 

_Chris doesn’t like his father._

_Chris doesn’t like cruel, controlling and demanding._  

_He’s only a teenager. Only seventeen. He only knows that he likes games, cars, girls, sex, and playing basketball. He hates hunting. He hates holding up guns at half past two in the morning and shooting painted targets on trees._

 

_Chris doesn’t like the way his dad laughs hysterically when he brings down a stag with only one shot._

 

_Chris doesn’t like the way Kate shrieks gleefully when he fires an arrow straight into the heart of a white haired rabbit._

 

_Chris especially doesn’t like the way people look at him when he walks down the hallways of Beacon Hills High. He doesn’t like the way the whisper about him, like he doesn’t know what they’re talking about. Because of course he does. Everyone talks about the Argents, who keep barrels of fifty different types of ash stored away behind their house. The Argents, who sell to the butchers more often than the entire county put together._

 

_Everyone knows about Gerard._

_Chris doesn’t like Gerard._

_Chris doesn’t like Gerard’s friends._

_Chris doesn’t like their daughter, Victoria. He knows that they’re not from here. He doesn’t want to take Victoria to his room. He doesn’t want to listen about how her family moved here for trade. He doesn’t like how her eyes light up when she brags about the buck they captured and cooked, or how her smile grows when she tells him about how they find their own turkey for Thanksgiving._

 

_Chris takes in her fair complexion, her still, grey eyes. The way her hair falls slightly above her shoulders. He looks at her breasts, sitting comfortably in her tight dress._

 

_Chris waves goodbye when they leave, and he smiles at Victoria when she says that it was nice meeting him. But he doesn’t say the same. Chris didn’t like meeting Victoria._

 

_Gerard motions for Chris to sit down in a chair when he shuts the door._

_“So, what did you think of Victoria?” he asks, taking a swig of beer._

 

_Chris shrugs._

_“You could learn a few things from her. A future with a woman like that would definitely secure our family history,”_

_“I don’t want to hunt when I’m older,” Chris mutters._

_Gerard scowls, “You don’t know what you want boy. Hunting keeps you in place, it shows you where you stand on the food chain. Without hunting, monsters would be kings, and we would be their slaves,”_

 

_“Humans are the top of the food chain, and we’re going to stay that way,” Chris states, folding his arms._

_Gerard grunts, and sends Chris to his room._

 

_Chris doesn’t like Gerard. Gerard can’t see that Chris doesn’t want to hunt. Not now, not when he’s older._

 

_Chris doesn’t like school. He doesn’t like people in general, but the people in his school, he hates. They judge him, they think he’s like his family. He’s not._

_They don’t know that._

 

_Chris doesn’t like jocks who shove him into lockers, calling him a freak. They yank his hair back and call him crazy, weird. Chris punches them._

_Apparently, teachers don’t like boys who punch. They give Chris detention._

_Chris walks into detention, and takes a seat at the back. He hates this. He hates detention, he hates shitty boys, he hates school. Chris hates Gerard for causing this._

 

_The door opens, and another boy walks in. Tall, but lean. Shaggy, dark hair falling over his forehead. Sparkling green eyes. Cunning smile. The boy sits himself down next to Chris._

_“I heard Chris Argent finally showed people who’s boss,” the boy smirks, leaning in, “And I gotta give it to you. Even I wouldn’t have been able to keep quiet if people gave me all that shit,”_

_His voice is like honey milk, dripping sweet and gooey from his mouth. Every word hummed makes Chris feel like he’s being smothered by hooey spices, flitting into him and coating his skin._

_Chris glares._

_“You still don’t talk, do you?” the boy asks, “I’ve never heard you say a full sentence before, and I’m pretty sure I’m wrong in thinking a punch is going to open that mysterious mouth of yours,”_

 

_His eyes twinkle, mixing emerald and shamrock. His smile is wolfish, his grin wide and contagious._

_Chris glares harder._

_“What’s up with you?” the boy presses, his voice now reminding Chris of cream. Soft and smooth, yet sharp on the tongue, “You’re silent, quiet. You’ve got girls fawning over that, Talia doesn’t shut up about it. But I always wonder what you’re hiding behind those,_ striking _, blue eyes,”_

 

_“I’m not hiding anything,” Chris says “No one asks, so I don’t tell,”_

_“I’m asking. Will you tell me, Christopher?”_

_“I don’t know you,”_

_“Peter Hale,” the boy murmurs, his voice growing quiet and back to the honey milk, sending enticing shivers up Chris’ spine, “And may I say, that I am ever so intrigued to be finding out more of the famous Chris Argent,”_

 

_Chris only stares. He doesn’t show any expression on his face, doesn’t react when Peter leans in closer. He tries not not move when Peter sucks in a lungful of air, mainly from Chris’ jawline. He closes his eyes when Peter’s skin makes near contact with his. Chris is sure Peter’s smelling him._

_He keeps his eyes closed. He doesn't open them when he feels the steady puffs of air extract from his cheeks. His doesn’t open them when the door opens, only to close shut. He doesn’t open them when the teacher calls his name._

 

_Chris opens his eyes when the lights click off. When he’s alone in the room._

_Chris slumps against the chair, his shoulders sagging. Peter Hale. Chris had heard about the Hales. Gerard ranted about them on and off throughout the days. He’s leant that they’re bad news. Chris doesn’t know why. He wants to know more about Peter._

 

_Looking down, he notices a small piece of paper on his desk, with a number on it. Chris shoves it in his pocket and leaves._

 

_Gerard yells at him when he reaches home. Chris thinks of honey milk._

 

_Gerard sends Chris to shoot the birds outside. Chris aims and shoots. He misses. His mind is somewhere else._

_Gerard noticing. He hits him, causing blood to gush out of his nose. He shouts at Chris again, telling him not to slack._

_Chris doesn’t like Gerard._

_But Chris thinks he likes sparkling, shamrock green eyes._

 

_***_

 

Chris follows Kate further down the tunnel, hoping she doesn’t notice how he silently shakes in fear. There’s that glint in her eyes again, the one she gets when she’s planning something murderous. Where she quivers in excitement, overcome with joy from the thought of killing a person. 

Chris wouldn’t be lying if he says that he doesn’t hesitate to feel frightened of his sister at times. When Kate wants to, she can make your spine crawl with anticipation. She knows just how to pull at your senses, tug at the sensitive chords of your heart strings, until you come undone. And not in the good way, either. She will pull you apart in the worst way possible. And Kate won’t even apologise. Maybe laugh in your face, probably spit on you. But never apologises. 

 

“I know that you think all this killing lark is beyond you and shit,” Kate drawls on, “But I feel like this final ending will really give you peace,”

“I don’t even know who I’m killing, Kate,” Chris hisses, “And what even makes you think I’m _going_ to kill this person? I don’t want anymore blood on my hands”

“You don’t think I know that!” Kate suddenly snaps, spinning around on her heel and narrowing her eyes at Chris, “I know what Allison’s death did to you, I know how it broke you. I want you to feel normal again, and I can see that there’s something holding you back,”

“The death of a person?”

“The death of a _monster_ , Christopher,” Kate turns and starts walking briskly, “There are too many in this world, and I have had certain personal experiences with this one. He created this mess, and it can only be cleared by the ending of his life,”

Chris halted in his tracks, “I have no intent on murdering Derek Hale, Kate,”

Kate barked out a cruel laugh, “Oh, I know. I’m just waiting for Stilinski to break his heart. Then I’ll happily watch him fall apart,”

 

Chris continues his trek through the murk, “I’m not killing Scott McCall either. He’s a good kid Kate. I know you hate him for who he is, but that wasn’t his choice-,”

“And who’s choice was it?”

“What?”

“Who’s choice was it, Chris?” Kate repeats, slowing down, “Who made the decision to bite Scott? Who wanted Derek to fight against our clans? Who got Allison killed? Which _special person_ , warped your mind? Changed your view on life, and made you weak. Who twisted you around their finger until you knew nothing but how to answer to their beck and call?”

 

Chris can feel his blood turning cold, like blades of ice piercing his skin and freezing his bones. His head feels light, and his vision blurs for a second. It’s been a long time since he thought of that person from his past. The one person who helped him forget. Who guided him through the fog with soft kisses and honey milk whispers. The feather light touches that caressed his skin when things at home got rough. The strong arms that would wrap around his torso, holding him tight and promising never to let go.

 

“He’s here?” is all Chris manages to stutter out. His heads spins around, eyes darting to the walls. There must be a door, or a cave somewhere. A passage way leading them to him.

“Relax, relax,” Kate waves him off, and continues her stroll down the winding tunnel, “We’ll see him soon enough,”

Soon enough is never enough. Chris can never have enough. He’s too void, to deprived of his personal source of energy. No amount of time will stretch it out so far that it dissipates all together. It can only grow, vaster, wider, deeper. Until it is filled with satisfaction, Chris will stay empty.

 

“Anyways, he’s been eager to see you. I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting. How, _hungry_ , he must be,”

 

***

 

_Chris is only just closing his locker when a basketball bounces a few times before bumping him in his leg. He looks down and picks it up, dusting it off, then peers around, trying to locate the location of the stray ball._

 

_He’s met with green eyes and a lazy smile. The smile is smirking. Chris hates it when Gerard smirks at him, forgetting to hide any tact when Chris says something stupid._

_Chris doesn’t know why his stomach tornadoes when Peter smirks at him._

 

_He doesn’t like it. But maybe he doesn’t hate it._

 

_“I see you found my ball,” Peter takes it from Chris, and leans against the lockers. Smirking, still. He never does stop smirking._

_“You’re ball found me,”_

_“You found each other. Fate,”_

_“Fate doesn’t exist,”_

_Peter’s smirk widens, a few inches a way from being a broad grin._

_“Fate makes the world go round,”_

_“I thought that was money,”_

_“It’s whatever you want it to be,”_

 

_Chris doesn’t know how to answer that. He says so._

_Peter laughs._

 

_Chris is pretty sure is stomach tidal waves. He doesn’t like it. Maybe Peter will leave soon._

_“So what are you doing here? It’s half five,” Peter asks, making no movement of leaving. Actually, it seems like he just made himself more comfortable, crossing him arms and tilting his head a little. It makes him look like a puppy._

 

_“I had to stay behind. A teacher wanted to talk about behavioural issues,” Chris doesn’t know why he’s saying all this. He never talks to anyone._

 

_“Behaviour? Ooh, Christopher, being a bad boy?”_

 

_Chris prays to all the Gods resting in the sky that his cheeks won’t turn a furious red colour. But from the way Peter’s eyes twinkle, his affirmative that his wish went unheard._

 

_“You can talk,” Chris mutters, straightening his shirt. He’s had about enough of Peter’s smart ass comments. A guy can only take so much shit._

_He takes a step to leave when a hand curls around his fist._

 

_Chris looks up to see Peter looking down. He really is tall. Chris never realised, but now that he sees it, it’s hard to miss. Peter’s broad shoulders, long legs, lean posture. Everything about him screams at Chris. The way his eyes shine with mischief and recklessness, but at the same time, how his smile drops the smirk and turns slightly intense._

 

_“I know I can talk,” Peter mutters, leaning in close.  There it is, that honey milk, gooey and dripping all over Chris. Peter’s strong fingers tighten around Chris’ hand. and one can only imagine what use they could be put to, “But I’d rather have something stopping me from doing so,”_

 

_Chris tugs his hand back and walks away, the tornado blowing all his organs astray._

 

_When he reaches home, he goes straight up to his room and yanks off his trousers._

 

_Barely ten minute later, Chris comes into a tissue, trying desperately not to think of a lazy smirk or skilled fingers._

 

_He now knows that he definitely likes green eyes._

 

_***_

 

They stop when they reach a door. Grey, metallic, and boarded up. Ruins written in blood surround the rim, dripping down the sides. What Chris can only assume to be mountain ash lies in an arc in front of the door. The smell of blood is a lot stronger here. It fills Chris’ nose and makes him want to throw up, worming into his senses just to tamper with the buttons.

 

“He’s behind this door?” Chris asks, gesturing with a tip of his head. 

Kate barks out a laugh, “I guess, but that’s not only it. With him, with that _beast_ , also lies your freedom. Your escape is in there, Chris. Behind this door, is your Get out of Jail card. I am giving you this opportunity to leave the past that haunts you. To start a new one,”

 

Chris’ past doesn’t haunt him. It devours him. He can’t sleep at night, knowing that his past is eating away at him, gnawing until there’s nothing left.

There are many, _many_ details of Chris’ past that he regrets. Gerard, Kate, Victoria. Allison.

 

Letting go of the one thing that kept him sane.

 

People always say that love will never last. That eventually, one day, the bridge holding two people together will collapse and break, causing whatever load to fall with it. Strings will snap, flowers will die, suns will set.

But they forget to mention that the scars don’t fall with them. The scars of your loves stay. They don’t heal, or cure. All they do is remind you of what you lost, of what you can never get back.

 

The scars let you realise that happy ever afters don’t exist, because no prince or princess ever owned a scar. And if you see yours, you understand that the story you’re living is no fairytale. It can only be a tragedy. You can’t skip the chapters, you can’t tear out the pages. 

 

Chris looks at the door, wondering what he’ll see on the other side. 

 

Will it bring him anger or sorrow? Will he feel complete, or guilty still? Will he see shamrock green eyes and a lazy smirk? Or is he going to be met with an unforgiving glare, and eyes burning full of hatred and resentment?

 

Chris doesn’t know. And he’s not even sure he wants to find out.

 

But you know what the say about second chances. They don’t come often.

 

So Chris reaches out and twists the handle, pushing the door open with a groan.

 

***

 

_The library’s near to empty when Chris enters. It’s bound to be. No one stays as late as half five, and those who do are usually only here for practice. They won’t be in the library._

 

_Chris walks around the shelves, reading the titles. He’s not really browsing, just passing time. There’s nothing for him at home._

 

_“Waiting for someone, dear?”_

_Chris lifts his head and shakes it, hoping the librarian will take that as an acceptable answer. He’s not waiting for anyone._

_But he is expecting someone to show up soon._

 

_After Chris stares at the clock go round six times, the faint sound of footsteps can be heard shuffling into the room. He quickly bows his head down, pretending to be engulfed in Dickens or Charlotte. He’d never been one for classics._

 

_“I didn’t know you were a Steinbeck fan,”_

_Chris peers up, “Hmm?”_

_“Of Mice and Men? It’s a good choice, but not the one I usually chose for ‘casually pretending to read’” Peter slips a finger in-between the shelves and pulls out a book._

_“The Odyssey’s a better option,”_

 

_Chris can’t help the curling sensation at the bottom of his spine when Peter flashes him a grin._

_“You like reading?”_

_It’s such a pathetic question to ask, and Chris doesn’t even know why he opened his mouth in the first place._

_“Nope,” Peter says, shaking his head, the smile still splayed widely on his face, “I just wanted to see you,”_

_Chis demands his heart to slow down “How’d you know I was here?”_

 

_Peter doesn’t answer. He looks away, towards the back of the library._

_“I’ve heard that the history section is rarely visited,” Peter casually mentions, before striking back a smirk mischievously, “Would you like to investigate with me?”_

 

_Chris doesn’t know why he nods mutely. Or why he allows Peter to take his hand, wrapping slender fingers in his palm, and lead onwards. They turn into the row, books blocking any viewing eyes. Chris’ mind barely registers the sharp pain digging into his back when Peter pushes him into the wall. It must be a book or something._

_He’s still not quite sure how he feels when Peter corners him, breath hot and heavy._

 

_“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?” Peter asks, leaning in and trailing his nose up the hollow of Chris’ neck. It’s beginning to get rather hard to breathe, and Chris has to keep on letting out small pants. He can feel his heart rate pick up when Peter tips his head up and stares into his eyes._

 

_“No,” Chris gulps, trying not to shake._

 

_Shamrock._

 

_Peter gently caresses Chris’ cheek before closing the distance between them._

_“Long enough,” Chris hears him whisper, just as their lips touch._

 

 

_Chris stares into the mirror, shocked at  the sight of his swollen, red lips._

_Gerard didn’t hit him._

_Peter’s mouth did, though._

 

_Chris likes it._

 

_A lot._

 

_***_

 

“Ugh, he smells worse than a real dog”

 

Chris has to curl his hands into fits, so he can resist hitting Kate.

He still hasn’t opened his eyes. He doesn’t want to see.

 

Sometimes a plain, empty darkness is a better view than reality. When your eyes are closed, you don’t need to face life and its monsters hand on. You can let yourself sink into the black void surrounding you, engulfing you until you are nothing more than a being in this world.

 

Chris would do anything to be a nothing. 

 

But he’s not a nothing. He’s a hunter.

 

 _A pursuer_.

 

He needs to live up to his name. Chris needs to have vengeance for Allison. 

For everything he’s ever lost.

Open your eyes. He needs to. He needs to see.

 

Chris opens them. The darkness goes away. In exchange he sees a blurry room, dimly lit, Blood is splattered onto the cornering walls, thin ropes stretch from ever nook onto a body. A small body curled into a ball on the floor.

The body is shaking. Writhing and convulsing. Even Chris can’t deny that the wrecked trembles are heavy sobs.

He wants to cry in unison. Chris doesn’t want to watch.

He can’t watch. He can’t watch the person weep.

 

He can’t watch his Peter cry.

 

“He only broke down after a few hours,” Kate scoffs in disgust, “I hadn’t even turned the power up all the way,”

Chris looks at the shackled chains holding Peter’s legs together. Wires cross over the ropes, all connected to some kind of energy supplier.

 

“Electrocuting him won’t kill him,” Chris points out. His head is screaming at him to tear Kate’s head of and run to his mate. To cradle him and kiss him, hold him and wipe his tears away.

Chris doesn’t even let himself blink.

 

“Oh, I know that,” Kate laughs, strolling over to the machine and fiddling with the knobs, “I just want to see how loud he can scream,”

She winds a dial up and sparks fly from the wires, surging into Peter. He roars out, his eyes flashing a remarkable blue, his fangs extending. The cry continues for eternities. So does the current of electricity.

 

“Did he scream like this for you, Chris?” Kate shouts over the defining howl, “Or was he the silent type?”

“Kate!” Chris thunders, “Why, why are you-”

“Why am I what!?” Kate bites out “Why am I taunting you? Making you stare while I torture the man _of your dreams_ ,” she simpers sarcastically. 

 

He can’t help the way his shoulders sag in relief when Kate spins the dial in the opposite direction, causing the current to stop and Peter to fall in a lump again. 

“Grow up Christopher! Gerard wanted us to seduce the Hales, not fucking fall in love with them! I managed just fine, why couldn’t you?!”

“Because he has a heart,” 

 

Chris and Kate both whip their heads to see Peter’s stare boring viciously at them.

“He has a fucking heart, and he knows how to recognise love when he sees it,”

“Then why isn’t he defending you?” Kate snaps back.

Peter shrugs, “It’s not his fault that demented daddy screwed into his brain, telling him that love didn't exist,”

“It doesn’t,”

Peter only shakes his head, peering up at Chris, “And how are you, Chris? Last time we met you were drunk and I was high. I think that motel manager was very impressed with the gift we left him,”

 

Chris can’t say anything. It hurts too much to think about it.

 

To think about all those times they shared. Those memories that have no proof of existing. 

 

“You slept together?” Kate spits out, “Even _after_ all this time?”

“It was few weeks after Allison’s funeral, if I can recall correctly,” Peter muses.

 

Chris might’ve laughed at the way Kate’s eyes bulge out if her head when Peter speaks out. 

It wasn’t a drunken fuck, or anything. In fact, Chris was completely sober. He was depressed though. He was depressed and Peter held him. He was lost and Peter only caressed his hair until he found his way back. Chris cried and Peter shushed him, murmuring words of no meaning into his ear. Chris doesn't know how long they stayed like that. Days, weeks. 

Then Chris kissed him.

 

He kissed Peter in a way they’d never kissed before.

 

He fucked Peter slowly and passionately that night, neither of them talking. Maybe because they were saying goodbye.

 

He left before Peter could wake up.  

That was two years ago.

 

“It wasn’t like that,” Chris mutters, “We were _fine_. I just-,”

He’s not expecting the slap Kate throws at him.

 

“You just turned into a little  bitch that night, didn’t you?” she hisses, nails carving down Chris shoulder.

“Um, actually, _I_ was the bitch,” Peter corrects, bobbing his head.

 

“ _This_ , this is what you let yourself surrender to?” the next hit sends Chris falling towards the ground, “I’m ashamed, Chris. I am _horrified,_ that you allowed this man into your life. Do you know what the Argent name is? We hold it in our bare hands, and even one small slip like this can cause everything we’ve built up to fall down. And it will fall, Chris,”

 

Her words spin around Chris like leaves in a storm. Everything the Agent name means.

 

After these past few years though, the Argent name doesn’t mean anything.

Chris was once proud of his family. He saw them as heroes, warriors. Fighting against all odds life threw at them.

 

Now, there’s nothing.

 

***

 

_“You’ve never snuck out before?”_

 

_Chris shakes his head, peering back to check that the lights in his house stay off. He’d crept down in complete silence, making sure he didn’t wake anyone up._

 

_Peter laughs, and it makes Chris’ stomach churn._

_In a good way._

 

_“Don’t be such a wuss, Chris,” Peter teases, starting up his car. The engine revs into life, and Peter drives out. “You’ll like where we’re going,”_

_“Where is that?”_

 

_Peter looks at Chris, cocking an eyebrow, “I’d tell you, but then you wouldn’t want to come,”_

_“Yes I would,” Chris insists. He’s lying. He doesn’t really want to go anywhere._

 

_But Peter asked. Chris can’t say no if Peter asks._

 

_After a little over twenty minutes, they pull up at a large building. Music is pumping in great, powerful thumps that can be heard from outside, and colourful rays of light shine out of the sweat stained windows._

 

_“No,” Chris folds his arms “No,”_

_“Yes,” Peter pulls at his sleeve, “C’mon Chris,”_

_“No, you go. I’ll stay here,”_

_“Where’s the fun in that?” Peter pouts a little, tugging harder, “If I was going to go by myself, I wouldn’t have asked you. I want you to join me,”_

_“No,”_

_Peter yanks Chris towards him, and due to the unexpected strength, Chris practically falls onto Peter’s chest. He can feel the heat radiating past the thin layer of fabric, see the defined texture of his muscles. He looks up and is captured by the strong hold of Peter’s alluring gaze._

 

_“Yes,” Peter says quietly, before kissing him gently, their mouths fitting together like to pieces of a puzzle._

 

_That’s why Chris is found half an hour later, surrounded by a wave of bodies. All of them are dancing freely, and Chris is dancing with them._

_He’s never felt so unattached. So loose from the strings that are tied to his wrists, binding him to the fate that Gerard has laid out, carved in stone._

 

_He’s buzzed from the alcohol provided. He’s probably high from the gases swimming around the room. He’s free._

 

_Someone is grinding enthusiastically next to him. He can’t make out much, but a heavily built structure with short, buzzed hair. The person keeps gripping onto Chris’ waist, sliding them together. They don’t fit. He can’t help but think of how well Peter’s lips fit his. A puzzle._

 

_Peter’s a bit of a puzzle, and Chris wants to solve him._

_“I really want to solve him!” Chris shouts over the beat of the base filled speakers. The stranger stops dancing, and looks at him confused._

_“What?”_

_“I really,_ really _, want to solve him,” Chris repeats. The guy should’ve heard him the first time. Maybe he’s not very good at hearing._

 

_The guy shakes his head, and wraps a rough hand around Chris neck. He leans in, and Chris gets an unpleasant waft of body odour and stale alcohol._

_“You here with someone?” he asks, too close for Chris comfort. But before he can make any effort to move away, the guy’s being pushed back._

_“You saw him come in with me,” Peter snarls, shoving the guy again._

_“Don’t start something Hale,” the stranger sneers, “Or I’ll go to Talia and tell her you’ve been a wolf behaving badly,”_

_“Talia wouldn’t be happy to know you’ve been babbling about wolves in front of a hunter”_

_“Fuck off,” Ennis snaps._

_“Gladly,” Peter harrumphs, before taking Chris by the arm and marching off._

_Chris doesn’t know what they’re talking about._

_Peter leads them to a winding staircase, motioning to it._

_“Can you walk up?” he asks._

_Chris shrugs, testing out his coordination. He manages a few steps, so he turns around and gives Peter a thumbs up._

_Peter laughs._

_Chris laughs back._

_Peter stops laughing at that, staring in shock. Chris also stops. He liked it when Peter was laughing._

 

_“How much did you have to drink?”_

_Chris shrugs. “‘M not even sure I know,” he slurs, continuing his walk up the stairs. “A girl came up and hugged me. Then she handed me a red cup with some beer in it. I drank that,”_

_“That wasn’t a girl, that was me. And I wasn’t hugging you, I was keeping you from falling over. Finally, that wasn’t beer,” Peter stops when they reach the top, “It was water,”_

 

_But Chris is too taken aback to reply. They’ve reached the roof of the building. It looks over all of Beacon Hills, probably. They’re too high up to see properly though, and all Chris can make out are an array of dotted lights. It’s still beautiful._

 

_He feels arms wrap tightly around his waist, and this time he leans into them. Peter nuzzles the crook of his neck, breathing in._

_“You always smell me,” Chris says, tilting his neck further. Peter’s tongue darts out, licking a long stipe of the pale skin, before latching his lips onto one spot, sucking a bruise. Chris tries not to moan, as Peter’s talented lips bite at his sensitive spot._

 

_“You always smell good” Peter mutters against Chris’ throat. “Like burnt sandalwood, or ash,”_

_“You always smell me,”_

_Peter huffs a laugh, spinning Chris around._

_“You always smell good,”_

_Chris smiles, noticing the way Peter’s eyes gleam when he does._

_“I’d never kissed a boy before,” Chris admits._

_“I know,”_

_“I like it much more than kissing girls”_

_“I know that too,”_

_“I like kissing you,”_

_“I like kissing you too,” Peter purrs, kissing Chris._

 

_A puzzle._

 

_Chris isn’t sure if it’s the drink, or the drugs, or the fact that Peter feels really good against him. But for some reason, this kiss is hot. It’s sloppy and messy, and Chris can’t help the moan that leaks out when Peter bites down on his bottom lip._

_“Have you ever slept with a boy?” Peter asks. Chris jolts a little when in goes straight to his dick._

_“No,”_

_Peter moves away, stroking Chris’ cheek._

 

_“When’s the next special date?”_

_“I’ve got a birthday in three months”_

_Peter grumbles, “Too far away,”_

_“It’s almost the fourth of July,”_

 

 

_Which is why Chris is sliding into Peter two weeks later, while fireworks burst outside. It’s not rough and pummelling. It’s not slow and sexy. It’s passionate. It’s intimate, and every kiss placed carefully on Peter’s bare chest is with a fervent heat._

_It's Peter encouraging him with soft words and breathy moans._

 

_Similar sounds continue, growing louder the deeper Chris travels. He changes the angle, and Peter cries out, pulling at Chris’ hair._

_The words turn into babbles, and tears collect in the corner of Peter's eye._

_Chris doesn’t talk, but Peter’s vocal enough for the both of them. It’s not long before they both reach their climax, and Chris is entranced by the Peter looks when he comes. He shouts out as Chris cups his balls, spilling over his stomach. After a few more angled thrusts, Chris comes inside him._

 

_He pulls out, dick hanging limply. Peter gestures for him to lie next to him, and post-sex haze lets Chris be manoeuvred until he’s nestled in the crook of Peter’s elbow._

_Peter kisses the sweet drenched top of Chris’ head, holding him tight._

 

_Chris never wants him to let go._

 

***

 

The silence is scary. Kate’ll never pass up the chance to taunt, and when she’s quiet, Chris knows something bad’s bound to go down.

She carelessly fiddling with wires, attaching them to different plugs. The power’s not on, because if it was, Peter wouldn’t be conscious. He wouldn't be looking at Chris so intently, tracking every movement he makes with those intoxicating green eyes.

 

“What are you going to do?” The question had been playing on Chris’ mind for too long. Kate turned around, face expressionless. 

“Well, originally, I was going to let you kill him. I have a wolfsbane coated knife here, and slitting his throat would have been the perfect ending to this tragedy. _But_ ,” Kate taps her chin thoughtfully, “Now that I know your past relationship was so, ‘intense’-”

 

“There was no relationship!” Chris insists, standing up, fits curled adamantly by his side, “There was _nothing_ ,”

He doesn’t need to be a werewolf to feel the sadness and betrayal oozing off Peter. Kate lets out another ruthless laugh, no humour detected at all.

“Oh, Chrissy, don’t say that,” She walks over and cups a hand around Peter’s chin, roughly guiding him to face her, “Look at those sad, sad, puppy dog eyes. I bet this little mutt thought there was a relationship. A blooming romance. Some kind of fucking Nicholas Sparks book,” she snarks sarcastically, “This is why I’ve changed my mind,”

 

“You’ve realised that you’re crazy and werewolves aren’t actually killing machines that are heart set on ripping your guts out?” Peter tries, raising an eyebrow.

“Hmm, no. Wrong,” Kate tuts, “Actually, the opposite. At first, Chris had the liberty of killing you. It was a luxury I allowing him. But now, I am going to force him to kill you,”

 

Chris scoffs, “You don’t need to force me to do anything,”

“Yes I do,”

“She’s right, she does,”

“See, even your lap dog agrees with me,”

Peter turns his eyes to Chris, “She needs to force you, because you, Christopher, are so madly in love, you would rather die than kill your mate,”

 

“Mate?” Kate asks, but Chris is already fuming. Rage is boiling up inside of him, sizzling and simmering. He can feel his muscles twisting inside of him, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s tackled Peter to the floor. Well, Peter was already _on_ the floor, but now he’s sprawled out, Chris straddling him, hands curling tight around his neck.

 

Every voice in his mind is screaming at Chris to slam Peter’s head against the floor. He hates him. He hates him so much.

 

‘I hate you,” Chris snarls, “I hate you, so much. I hate you, I hate you. I hate you for allowing me to love you, I hate you, because I let you in. You made sure you knew me inside and out. You made sure we were mates, that we loved each other,”

He leans in, fingers digging in harder, “You let me me love you, and you let yourself love me. Against everything, you let me believe it would work. You gave me _hope_ ,”

Chris can see the angst in Peter’s eyes, the surprise tremble in his lips. He hates him. Chris wants to wipe it off, claw all emotion away of Peter’s face.

 

Instead, he kisses him.

 

Because Chris hates him.

 

Except he doesn’t.

 

***

 

_It’s not right._

 

_It is not right._

 

_Kate’s quiet. She’s too quiet._

_Gerard is glowering._

 

_Chris doesn’t know what’s going on._

 

_He’s been on the sofa for fifteen minutes now. Gerard called him down, for a talk._

_No one’s been talking._

 

_Chris clears his throat uncomfortably, an that seems to alert Gerard’s attention._

_He sits up, scowling._

_“Are you a faggot, Chris?”_

 

_Chris stills. He didn’t know this was going to be the category of the talk._

_“Are you?” Gerard asks again._

_Chris nods. He’s too frightened to do anything else. The mad look in Gerard’s eyes stops him from moving. There’s something unknown in them. Something dark and demented, prowling in the shadows. Aching to pounce. Kate’s not making any eye contact and he knows now that she was in on this._

 

_“Are you a faggot for that Hale boy?”_

_Again, Chris can only nod._

 

_“You know I don’t like Hales, Chris. You know how much I hate them. Yet, you go off and stick your tongue down one of their throats,” Gerard’s voice starts to rise, “Is that what I’ve trained you for!?”_

_“No sir,”_

_“What is it, then?”_

_“To hunt, sir,”_

_“Hunt what!?”_

_“Animals,”_

_“To hunt the Hales,” Gerard practically growls, gritting his teeth._

_“But, but they’re humans,”_

 

 _“No Christopher,” Gerard stands up and puts a heavy hand on Chris’ shoulder, “They’re_ animals _,”_

 

 

_Chris doesn’t sleep that night._

_He just can’t._

 

_He tosses and turns, changing positions and duvet covers, swapping pillows around and just stripping naked. After he hears the grandfather clock chime four times, he gives up on trying to get any rest._

_Sending a quick text, Chris slips on a hoodie, pyjama pants and leaves the house._

 

_He’s an expert at sneaking out now._

 

_After a good half hour walk, he reaches Beacon Hills lookout point. There’s not much there, just a clearing and a wide view of the county. He sits at the edge, looking out. Everyone’s sleeping, most likely. No one’s awake but Chris._

 

_“You know, when I said we should go camping, this wasn’t exactly what I meant,”_

 

_Peter’s honey milk voice drips in to Chris’ thoughts. He shakes it off._

 

_“What’s wrong?” Peter asks, as he sits down. Their legs dangle over the edge, and Chris can feel Peter’s thumb stroking over his knuckles. “Hey, tell me,”_

 

_Chris turns, and sees those green eyes that he loves so much. Those beautiful green eyes, that are attached to that beautiful, smirking face. That beautiful face, with that beautiful body. The one that is sometimes over or under Chris, holding him and never letting go. Keeping him safe._

 

_“I’m a hunter,” Chris says, trying to keep his heart rate steady. Peter doesn't say anything._

_“I’m a hunter, and you’re a werewolf,”_

_“You’re Chris and I’m Peter,”_

_“But you’re a werewolf,”_

_“Chris-”_

_“No!” Chris stops, “You’re a werewolf and I’m supposed to kill you, but no one told me. You never told me, and, and,”_

_“And?”_

_Chris closes his eyes, “You knew,” he whispers softly, “You knew that I didn’t know. You knew that I was clueless, but you didn’t tell me. You let it carry on until I was too deep to pull myself out,”_

_Peter’s silent. Chris needs to open his eyes._

 

_He was not prepared to see tears leaking form Peter’s. He can’t watch this. He can’t watch those beautiful shamrock eyes cry._

_He can’t watch his Peter cry._

 

_“I love you,” Chris can his cheeks growing wet, “But I’m not supposed to. Because you’re dangerous. You never told me. Why didn’t you tell me?” he looks at Peter desperately, “Why?”_

_“I’m not the only dangerous one here,” Peter says, sounding forlorn, “I’m not the one who can shoot an animal down with one bullet being at least two hundred feet away. I don’t have a family heritage that kills your kind for a living,”_

_“Yes you do,”_

_“No!” Peter snatches his hand away, “I don’t. Your dad just tells you that I do. The same way my mother tells me that you could kill me before I blink._

 

_“But I know that you wouldn’t,” Peter continues, "Because you love me. And I love you. You’re- you’re my mate,”_

 

_Chris looks up, frowning, “What’s a mate?”_

_“It means that even if you stop loving me, there is nothing in this world that will stop me from loving you. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t,”_

_“I’m not supposed to be with you anymore,”_

_“You don’t want that,”_

_Chris can feel tears threatening to spill again, “It doesn’t matter. Gerard wants it. And what Gerard wants, he gets,”_

_“What about me?”_

_Chris needs to shut his eyes again, “What do you want?”_

 

_“You,”_

 

_Chris can feel the warmth of Peter’s lips on his skin, kissing up his cheek. Those soft lips, those magical lips. The lips kissing his cheek, kissing away his tears. The fingers brushing away any sadness remaining on his face, capturing his mouth in a steady embrace._

 

_He kisses Peter, because he doesn’t know when they’ll kiss again. He sighs into Peter mouth, allowing the boy to deepen the kiss, letting his tongue swirl into Chris’ mouth._

 

_Chris’ hands travel lower, slowly unbuttoning Peter’s nightshirt. Heat burns from Peter’s chest, and Chris can only imagine how it would feel to wake up next to that, everyday._

 

_“I love you,” Peter whispers, against his lips, kissing him soft and sweet. “And if we can’t be together I’ll break. I’ll be lost, and I won’t know where to go,” He pulls back slowly, though he keeps his hands placed on Chris cheeks, “But I can manage. I’ll still see you everyday, I’ll still love you the same. As cheesy as it is, I can keep you in my heart. Even when I die, you’ll stay in my heart. We won’t be together, but we’ll still be mates. I can carry on as long as I know you’re safe. As long as I know you’re not going to be broken too,”_

 

_Chris nods, pressing his lips together. He sinks into Peter’s arms, letting him hold him._

 

_They stay like that through the night. And eventually, Chris falls asleep._

 

_He leaves before Peter wakes up._

 

***

 

Chris pulls back from the kiss, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Peter looks at Chris, watching him warily.

 

Chris gets up, dusting himself down. He turns on his heel, and walks towards Kate.

“Where’s the wolfsbane knife?” he asks.

Kate raises a skeptical eyebrow, “Wow, I didn’t know you had it in you,” She crouches down, reaching for a bag underneath the desk. Unzipping it, she pulls out a long knife, dusted in a dark powder.

“Here you go,”

 

Chris takes the knife, looking at the steel glinting in the light. 

“A quick swipe across the throat, and that will have finished him off,”

 

Chris nods, glancing up to meet Kate’s cold gaze, “Leave,”

She practically stumbles, “What?”

“Leave,” Chris repeats, “Give me my privacy. You can listen in for us, if you want. You can track the heart rate of us, to make sure he dies. But I’m not having you in the room when I kill my mate,”

 

Kate stays still for a minute, a thoughtful pout on her face. But after a couple of minutes, she shrugs and walks to the door.

 

“Just remember,” She says, looking over her shoulder, “I burnt down an entire house of werewolves. It’s not hard to kill a beta and an ex-hunter,”

 

Chris doesn’t move when the door slams shut. He doesn’t move after he can feel the deadly silence in the room. He doesn’t even move when Peter coughs tactfully, disrupting the quiet.

 

“You know,” Peter starts, “The whole idea of ‘killing someone’ is to actually _kill_ them. As much as you may want, superhero’s aren’t going to do it for you,”

 

Chris huffs a sigh, shifting to watch Peter. The man’s on the floor, still shackled, but grinning. Like he doesn’t think Chris is actually going to kill him.

 

“And by the way, you so don’t hate me,”

“How would you know?” Chris asks, walking over to him and kneeling down.

“You don’t make out with people you hate,”

“I didn’t make out with you, I kissed you,”

Peter’s smile drops, “Why?”

“Because I love you,” Chris moves closer, “And I don’t know how to stop,”

 

***

 

_After that night, Chris only ever saw Peter in the hallways. They never made eye contact. They didn’t meet up after school in the library, they didn’t sneak out to kiss on the roof, they didn’t sleep together outside._

 

_Chris graduated. He’d been accepted into Brown, he’d been training at a wilderness hunting academy, he’d been dating Victoria._

 

_He’d done everything he didn’t want to do._

 

_It was his last night home, and Chris was at a bar. He’d been drinking away his troubles when a honey-milk voice whispered in his ear._

_“I hear college boy is leaving tomorrow. Does he want a goodbye gift?”_

_They fucked in the toilets, and Chris kissed Peter hard on the lips before leaving._

 

_Three years later, Chris married Victoria. As they were getting pictures taken, a waiter walked up to Chris, saying there was a man waiting for him in the hotel lobby._

 

_Peter rode Chris in a hotel room that night, but he left just as Victoria came looking for her newly wed._

 

_They fucked on and off over the next eighteen years._

 

_Before the murders, the last time they do it is in Chris car, steaming up the windows, staining the seat covers._

 

_Two months later the Hale house burns down._

 

_Chris visits Peter in hospital once. He stays until closing time, just looking. He doesn’t talk. He doesn’t cry. He only looks._

 

_After he leaves he never comes back._

 

_The fucks become more frequent when they return to Beacon Hills._

 

_But Chris knows that after Allison’s death, it’s a goodbye. It's a goodbye, and it's one that never ends._

 

_He doesn’t want to let go._

_He can't let go._

 

_It's too hard._

_A goodbye that never ends._

 

***

 

“Because I love you, and I don’t know how to stop,”

“Then don’t stop,” Peter pleads, sounding desperate, “I’ll never stop. I never want you to stop. I never want us to stop loving each other,”

 

Chris watches as tears pour down Peter’s face. He can’t find it in him to wipe them away.

“It won’t work,” Chris mumbles, “We’ve tried everything, and it just won’t work,”

“Chris, there’s so much more to try,”

 

Chris looks into Peter’s shamrock eyes. Those eyes. 

He loves Peter. Everything about him. He can’t help it. He loves his mate. 

It’s a burden, love. It can never abandon you, even if you want it to. It stays, and it scars. 

 

Chris has to live with that burden.

Peter doesn’t have to.

 

“You once told me,” Chris says, “That you would always love me. Even if we weren’t together, you would love me. That you would keep me in your heart even after you died,”

 

Chris kisses Peter, allowing himself the luxury to hold on, before letting go.

 

“I can’t have that,”

 

He closes his eyes.

 

Shamrock.

Honey milk.

A lazy smile.

A wolfish smirk.

A tear rolling down.

A goodbye that never ends.

He loves him.

 

Chris doesn’t want to look. Chris doesn’t want to watch. He can’t watch. He can't watch the look on Peter’s face as he slides the wolfsbane knife into his heart. He can’t watch as the life drains form Peter’s eyes.

 

He can’t watch his Peter die.

 

Detention.

Lockers.

Library.

Rooftop.

Over looking Beacon Hills.

A goodbye that never ends.

He loves him.

 

Chris feels the slump of Peter’s body. 

 

Gently pushing the lifeless body off him, he kisses Peter one last time.

 

Then he lets go.

 

He’s numb.

He can’t feel anything within him. He can’t feel the blood pumping through his veins. He can’t feel the cold in his stomach. He can’t feel the breaking of his heart.

 

A wolf.

A hunter.

A lost love.

A secret affair.

All gone.

A goodbye that never ends.

He loves him.

 

He opens the door. Kate’s leaning on the wall, playing with her finger nails. She looks up, but doesn’t even have time to shout before Chris sends a bullet flying through her head.

He’s killed his demon.

 

He walks out of the tunnel.

 

He walks into the open air.

 

A goodbye that never ends.

He loves him.

 

Chris lets go.

 

***

 

Sheriff Stilinski’s sitting at his desk when the call comes in. A body found, outside the old passage way.

 

He reaches in ten minutes. 

“What happened?” he demands, walking up to a deputy.

“A woman found dead sir, just outside a room,”

“Any traces?”

“A lot of blood in the room sir, but none of it hers,”

“Where did the blood come from?”

“Perhaps another body, sir?”

“Did you find one?” Sheriff asks, frowning.

“No sir,” the deputy shakes his head, “No other body,” 

 

***

 

A wolf overlooking Beacon Hills.

 

He loves him.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys liked that!
> 
>  
> 
> [ Come and tumble with me fren](http://rogue-wizard.tumblr.com)


End file.
